Love and Sundries
by greenschist
Summary: Draco and Hermione: love in ten ways. A collection of ficlets from a Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing competition.
1. The Allure of Libraries

Author's note: This is a collection of ficlets written for a livejournal Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing competition that I won in 2008. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

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_The Allure of Libraries_

_prompt: Leather and Librarians_

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"I've figured it out."

At the sound of her boyfriend's voice, Hermione snapped upright. "Draco?" She rubbed her eyes. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

Ignoring her, Draco continued. "You have a fetish."

She gaped at him before hissing, "I have a _what?_"

"A fetish."

"I do not! And keep your voice down, we're in a public library!" Hermione looked around, but the basement of the new Bathilda Bagshot Memorial Library was otherwise deserted.

"Exactly." Draco sat next to her. "Why else would you spend all your time here doing this-" he waved his hand at the parchment and leather-bound books stacked around Hermione "-when you could do it at home? I think you have a fetish."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly."

Draco hid his smile. He never stopped marveling how long it had taken him to see how pretty Hermione was. Even with her disgruntled expression, her bushy hair pulled back in a Pince-like bun, and a crease on her cheek from falling asleep on her book, she was still the most beautiful woman Draco knew.

He continued his mock assessment. "The question now is what fetish. It couldn't be just for the books. Between your collection and mine, that's enough to satisfy anyone." She ignored him and propped a leather-bound book in front of her face. "Is it for the librarians? Because I did notice your new hair style." She shot him a deadly glare over _To__Serve__Man:__Elf__Case__Studies_, and he grinned. "No? Too bad." He paused and watched her read. Her fingers subconsciously stroked the binding. "Oooh, a leather fetish. Even better. Am I right?"

She became aware of her actions and slammed the book shut. "I do _not_ have a leather fetish!"

"'First step to recovery' and all that..."

Hermione almost argued but found herself laughing instead. "You're mad."

"No, I'm worried." He was suddenly serious. "You're working too hard." He cupped his hand over the back of her neck and pulled her close to kiss the pink trace on her cheek. "Can't you come home?"

She wrapped her arms around him tightly and tucked her head under his chin. "Presenting to the Ministry is so huge, so much bigger than S.P.E.W., I just want it to be perfect. That's why I'm here," she kissed his throat, "-certainly not because of a leather fetish. I could work at home tonight, though."

Draco pulled his wand and sent Hermione's parchment sailing into her bag. "We'll make it just like the library," he said with satisfaction. "To make you happy, I'll even create a leather smell somehow."

Hermione took his hand and said casually, "You could always wear leather trousers. That would make me quite happy."

"I thought you said you didn't have a leather fetish."

"For you, I could develop one."


	2. For the Cause

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine

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_For the Cause_

_prompt: lies, lies, lies  
__requirements: must contain a lie_

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What do you do, Draco wondered, when you do everything right but still fail to get the girl?

He watched Hermione accept her cloak from an elf and considered his situation. He was no closer to wooing Hermione than before, despite voluntarily opening his home to her for the Ministry's monthly dark magic inspection and opening his heart by answering her questions, no matter how difficult. Being good wasn't working.

It was time for the last resort of Malfoy seduction: lying.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Hermione turned, but Draco carefully focused on the elf. "They're so...oppressed."

"I'm surprised you feel that way, Draco, since you're his oppressor."

"I'm not," he insisted, all wide, innocent eyes and a righteous expression. He dropped his hand on the elf's head and silently cursed it for flinching. "I'm committed to elf rights. After I inherit, freeing elves will be my first priority."

"How enlightened."

"Thanks." Was it a bad sign that she seemed amused? "Heard of my group yet? 'Elvish Liberation, Integration, and Treatment as Equals'?"

"_E.L.I.T.E.?__" _

What's wrong with E.L.I.T.E.? Draco thought it was clever. "We could discuss the movement over dinner."

Hermione laughed. "I'm not gullible, Draco. If you cared about elves, you'd let go of poor Pricket and stop scaring him." He dropped his hand and frowned as the elf cringed further. "But," she smiled, "you _should_ care. Pick me up at eight and I'll teach you why." With a crack, she Disapparated.

Draco's triumphant "Yes!" almost frightened Pricket to death.


	3. The Head Students' Bathroom

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine

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_The Head Student's Bathroom_

_prompt: Clichés—She punched me…and it was LOVE  
__requirements: Must contain popular dramione clichés. I chose Headboy/girl, __shared quarters including bath,  
Slytherin-Sex-God!Draco, Blushing-Virgin!Hermione, __and an obsession with Hermione's knickers. _

_warning: Obviously, thar be clichés here!_

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"How dare you come in here, Draco Malfoy!" The Egyptian cotton washcloth that had seemed almost too luxurious for bathing was proving woefully inadequate as a cover-up. "Get out!"

Draco hooked his thumb behind the glittering "HB" badge on his chest and thrust it in her direction. "Head Boy, remember, Granger? That means-," he resumed picking through the clothes she had left folded on the vanity, "-it's my bathroom, too. Don't you know anything about sharing?"

From the shower, she stared at his back in disbelief. "Sharing a bath doesn't mean sharing it at the same time! Anyway," she sputtered, "this isn't about sharing. It's about basic things like respect and priva-" Hermione stopped, realizing he was still picking through her laundry. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for your knickers," he replied, not bothering to turn around.

"_What?_"

"Found them!" Like a knight with the Holy Grail, Draco held her knickers up over his head. "I knew they'd be white cotton."

"Put them down!"

"Think of it as a good deed, Granger." He lowered his arms and turned to her. "Half the student body can barely concentrate for all the time spent speculating about your knickers. Now I can put their minds at ease, let them get back to work." He stuffed them into his pocket. "I might even get an award for Special Services to the School for this."

School-wide speculation? About her underwear? Hermione thought she might faint from embarrassment. "I don't believe you," she said weakly.

"Believe it." His eyes lingered on the curves of her breasts, barely hidden by the washcloth.

At that moment, Hermione would have given up that precious cloth for her wand and the opportunity to hex his eyes out of his head. "Would you stop looking at me?"

He smirked. "Why? It's not like you have anything I haven't seen before." The smirk broadened into a grin. "Many times before, actually."

"Oh, right," she snorted. "I forgot I was talking to the Slytherin Sex God. Well, I don't believe that, either, Malfoy. If you did half the things people say about you, your-" she scrambled unsuccessfully for a word that would make her sound more mature than him, "-your _thing_ would have fallen off by now."

Draco laughed out loud. "My _thing?_" Hermione was sure she was blushing harder than she ever had in her life. "That's just...precious, Granger." He smiled like the world's best present had fallen in his lap. "You're a virgin."

She had never felt anything quite like the mixture of embarrassment and rage that boiled her blood then. "That is none of your business! And for the last time, get out!"

"Okay, okay," he drawled, finally turning toward the door. "Don't be embarrassed about your virginity, Granger. After all," he paused and winked at her over his shoulder, "we have all year to take care of that."

The door closed mere seconds before the washcloth hit it with a splat.


	4. Heimdall the Naturalist

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine

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_Heimdall the Naturalist_

_prompt: Outside looking in  
requirements: Draco/Hermione from another character's perspective. I chose Malfoy's owl._

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_June_

She seems like a fine specimen.

The female has large, keen eyes, gentle hands, and hair that would fluff out a nest nicely. I can see why the male wants her attention.

His choice to initiate his pursuit by letter _(Granger, __How__'__s __your __summer __so __far? __D. __Malfoy. __P.S. __Write __back. __Heimdall __won__'__t __leave __until __you __do.)_ may have been the wrong decision, however, because the female seems more agitated than responsive. It takes her almost as long as it took the male to write a letter _(It's __fine. __How __are __you?) _that is just as unimpressive, but at least she leaves him an opening to continue.

It's exciting to have the chance to observe a human courtship up close!

* * *

_July_

It was a mistake to interfere.

This courtship through parchment is just so slow. Yes, they are writing longer, more spirited letters to each other now, but what do "Muggle-borns" and "purebloods" have to do with the business of finding a mate? Time for a nice tasty lemming, I thought, a display of the male's hunting prowess.

Unfortunately, by the way she threw it out the window and from her letter (_Is __this __supposed __to __be __some __sort __of __THREAT?)_, the female appears unimpressed. Now the male is furious with me and is sending multiple letters to the female using other owls.

How disappointing.

* * *

_August_

I had hoped that the female changed her location because she was starting to feel broody, but she's just joining her friends—including the hyperactive Pigwidgeon and that tart Hedwig—for the rest of the summer in a ramshackle "burrow." This would be an excellent time, in my opinion, for the male to show the female the quality nest site he could provide, for it would surely shine by comparison.

I believe that the female's companions are less than supportive of this courtship from the way they keep screeching "That's Malfoy's owl!" and "Have you lost your mind, Hermione?" His letter _(Don't __stop __writing __just __because __you're __there __with __them. __Please.)_suggests the male shares my anxiety.

Of course, the female is more than strong enough to ignore any criticism, and her letter _(Silly __boy. __I __wouldn't __do __that. __You're __not __getting __rid __of __me __that __easily.) _makes the male smile.

* * *

_September_

The last thing I wanted to see in the Owlery was the male carrying yet more parchment. Doesn't he realize that since he and the female are both back at the castle, it's time to move this courtship to the next level?

There may be hope for this species yet because, yes, apparently he does.

His letter _(Dear __Hermione, __Let's __meet __in __Greenhouse __One __tonight __at __ten. __Love, __Draco. __P.S. __Heimdall __won't __leave __until __you __say __yes.) _makes me dance on my perch in sheer delight.


	5. Comfort Me with Apples

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

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_Comfort Me with Apples_

_prompt: 400 words about autumn_

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"What do you think?" Hermione laces her fingers through Draco's and hugs his arm, gently rubbing her cheek over the soft, gray wool covering his bicep.

"It's beautiful," he says. They have Apparated to a leaf-covered hill top. In the shallow valley below, Draco can see gold-tipped trees heavy with fruit."Are we in an orchard?"

"That's right. Mum, Dad, and I came apple picking here every autumn until I went to Hogwarts."

"Oh." The way her cheeks are pinking in the breeze momentarily distracts him. "Um, are they here yet?"

"Not yet." She squeezes his hand. "Come on, let's go down."

* * *

Under the tree she calls her favorite, they spread a thick blanket over yellowed grass and curl up together.

"This was the first place I did magic," she tells him, touching the trunk reverently. "I was too little to climb the ladder, but I saw the most perfect apple high in this tree. Since I couldn't climb up to it, I made the tree bend down to me." She _Accio_s an apple into her waiting hand and looks almost sheepish. "My parents were mystified, of course. It's not as if trees are supposed to do that."

Draco knows just how the tree felt. He would bend the laws of nature to please her, too.

"Did they want someone else for you?" It almost kills him to ask. "Someone like Weasley?"

Hermione brings the apple to his mouth and watches him take a bite. "They want someone who makes me happy." She kisses the tart juice from his lips. "You qualify."

Cross-legged, he pulls her onto his lap, and she wraps arms and legs around him. His hands slip under her bulky jumper to rest on the warm skin of her back. He presses his face into the hollow of her shoulder and closes his eyes.

* * *

Cries of "Hermione?" and "Hermione, sweetheart!" pull them apart, and they see her parents, with a picnic hamper between them, climbing over the fence.

He lags behind as Hermione runs to greet them, not wanting to intrude, but when she turns back and holds out her hand to him, he takes his place by her side. He finds the solitaire she wears on her ring finger and traces the band with his fingertip for courage.

"Mum, Dad," she says, her smile as beautiful as the October sky, "this is Draco."


	6. All For You

A/N: This is an alternate version of the drabble actually entered in the LDWS competition. The original was 100 words of crapola, and I prefer this one.

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

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_All For You_

_prompt: Gossip_

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"So I hear you're in love with Harry."

"_What?_" Appalled, Draco spun around so fast the bottle of All-Purpose Antidote slipped from his swollen, green fingers.

Impish, Hermione held up a folded _Prophet_ and said, "That's the latest according to Rita Skeeter."

In an endless loop in the newsprint photograph, Harry appeared to embrace a prone Draco and rest his head against his chest. The inch-tall headline above it screamed, _Potter/Malfoy__Tryst__—__EXPOSED!_

Draco gaped in outrage before exploding, "The clumsy sod fell on me during practice!" He glared at his giggling girlfriend. "Is that why the world's gone mad? Why my bedroom is full of Howlers, and why some nutter sent me a curse?" He held his abused hands in front of her face, and Hermione gasped.

"Oh, Merlin!" She tossed the paper on the vanity and opened the antidote, liberally pouring it over his fingers and gently rubbing it in. Draco let her play healer and grimaced as he skimmed the brief article.

_At last, devoted readers, the reason why Draco Malfoy, son of infamous Deatheater Lucius Malfoy, changed sides during the last war is revealed. He did it all for love, for the love of none other than our hero, Harry Potter._

"So close and yet so far, Rita," he muttered. When Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly, he clarified, "If she weren't afraid to come near you, she'd figure out that I did indeed to it all for love-" he paused and dropped a kiss on her waiting mouth,"-because I did it all for you."


	7. Wolf at the Door

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

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_Wolf at the Door_

_prompt: write a scary story for Halloween_

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_~~Three hours before moonrise_

"What I wouldn't give for a gun and a silver bullet right now," Hermione muttered, staring at Greyback through the shack's tiny broken window. Lazing against a gnarled tree, the werewolf uncrossed his arms and blew her a kiss.

"Since you're making worthless wishes, Granger, why not wish for a wand or a way out of here?"

She faced her unwanted companion. "Well, where's your wand, Malfoy?" Weak sunlight filtered through the gaps in the building's walls, painting the Slytherin in bands of light and dark. "Why are you here? Aren't you and Greyback allies these days?"

"I don't have any allies." He braced his back against the wall and sank to the floor, burying his face against his raised knees.

_~~Two hours before moonrise_

"Harry will come for me."

Draco stopped pacing long enough to sneer, "He'd better hurry up."

She evaluated him critically in the dying light. Gaunt and ragged, Malfoy looked worse than she had ever seen him.

"I'm sure your parents are looking for you," she said as a peace offering.

He laughed, but it was so close to a sob, he flinched as the sound came from his own throat. "I'm sure they're _not._" He held her gaze for just a moment. "My parents are dead. Greyback's the only one looking for me, and—guess what?-he just found me."

Taking a deep breath, she joined him and tentatively took his hand, noting how his nails were gnawed down to bloody half-moons. "Then Harry will come for us both," she promised.

His hand tightened around hers.

_~~One hour before moonrise_

A broken table, fragments of stone and wood, everything that could be used as a barricade had been moved in front of the door. Hermione wedged a broken board under the doorknob as securely as she could.

"Won't do you a bit of good, pretty," a strange voice growled, and she gasped to see Greyback directly outside. Through the slats, Hermione could see pieces of bone in his filthy beard, and she shuddered when she noticed the hair around his mouth was stained red.

"Hermione."

She backed up until they were shoulder to shoulder. "Draco, Greyback is-"

"We're surrounded," Draco whispered.

Turning, she could see the silhouettes of another half-dozen werewolves prowling outside.

"Oh, Merlin. I don't want to die like this."

He kissed her cheek. "I know," he whispered against her skin.

_~~Now_

Outside, the werewolves snarl in agony as bone and flesh surrender to the pull of the moon.

Hermione does not watch but instead hides her face against Draco. His heart beats out a panicked rhythm, and he pants a litany of curses against her hair. When he tips her face up to his and kisses her hard, full of grief and longing, she can only cling to him and cry.

Under the moonlight, a chorus of howls fills the air, and Hermione hears the first quiet scratch of claws on wood.


	8. We Follow the Sea

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

A/N: This remains one of my favorite drabbles I've ever written.

* * *

_We Follow The Sea_

_Prompt: "Out of the UK"-Must take place somewhere outside the United Kingdom._

* * *

He named their boat _The __Sea __Serpent_, but Hermione, upon discovering he Confunded a Muggle into selling it to them for two Knuts and a button, insists it is named _Flight __From __Prosecution_.

Draco hides in the shade of the galley, seeking shelter from the West African sun as Hermione swims. She swims every day, wherever they may be. Since leaving England after the final battle, Hermione has slipped beneath the surface of a half-dozen seas.

He loves to watch her, especially in that moment when she dives off the back of their boat, and her body arcs into a perfect curve before slicing through the water. He spends entire days like this: watching and wanting Hermione, not thinking about the past, and searching the skies for owls. Because no matter where they go, owls always find them.

Potter found them right away, in those first crazy days in France when they had no ship and no plan, just a burning desire to get away and a green and gold bikini Draco bought Hermione in Marseille. She struggled for days to answer Potter's letter, which was full of questions and quiet concern, but she never found the words.

Weasley's letter, all red anger and accusation, found them in Venice. Hermione read a few lines before crumpling it and stuffing it in a trash bin. Draco bought her a gelato and kissed her for the first time.

They were watching the sun set over Cyprus when McGonagall's invitation back to Hogwarts arrived. He kissed the tears from her eyes and she crawled into his lap. They made love as the stars rose above them and left the letter for the tide in the morning.

Through the Suez and the Red Sea, while the equatorial sun boiled Draco like a lobster and painted Hermione in bronze and gold, they were chased by requests for interviews, politely-worded demands from the Ministry that Hermione return and make public appearances, and less politely-worded demands from the Wizengamot that Draco return for questioning. All were incinerated.

Near the bottom of the world, at a place Hermione told him was called Cape of Good Hope, Draco watched her tear letters from family and friends into shreds for the wind to snatch and carry. He liked to lay her down on the deck, to sink into her under southern skies and let the waves rock them gently together. She traced alien stars on the skin of his back, charting the Southern Cross and Carina with her fingertips. He buried his face in her sun-bleached hair and murmured "good hope" against the shell of her ear over and over.

Draco stands up as Hermione pulls herself back on board. Wearing nothing but bikini bottoms and sunshine, she looks nothing like the girl she used to be, far away in England. She is tense, and Draco looks up to see a dark owl approaching with a red envelope.

They will be sailing west by sundown.


	9. Let's Do Lunch

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

* * *

_Let's Do Lunch_

_Prompt: 100 words_

* * *

Smiling, Hermione sits on her desk, pulling pins from her hair until it falls to her waist. Nudging her knees apart and standing between them, Draco inches her proper Ministry robes off her smooth shoulders and traces her collarbone with his tongue. He eases her onto her back, and the way she arches up to meet his mouth makes him as hard-

"Malfoy?" Hermione frowns at him from the front of the room.

Draco carefully hides his lap under the color-coded summary she passed out at the beginning of the meeting.

"Sorry, Granger. I was thinking about doing lunch."


	10. Enduring Darkness to See the Light

Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine.

AN: Warnings for recurrent miscarriage.

* * *

_Enduring Darkness to See the Light_

_Prompts: Must contain a child; second person_

* * *

You were doing all right until Pansy dropped by to show off her second daughter.

Despite his even voice and calm expression, you know your husband too well not to see how much holding the baby hurts him. Maybe if you were a better woman, you could lift the newest Montague in your own arms and spare Draco this, but you can't bring yourself to touch her, not when you're still bleeding out your latest hope, not when Pansy's eldest is younger than your first child would have been had that pregnancy not ended in loss as well. So, upright and still as a tombstone, you stand by the fireplace instead, controlling your breathing and wondering if the Malfoys are cursed.

Narcissa has been a surprising source of comfort, and, on the table in front of Draco, the flowers she sent you are still fresh and fragrant. She brings you yarn and seedlings and books about grief, and she encourages you to find some way to commemorate your losses. You think of Narcissa's garden and of trees growing for Draco's lost brothers and sisters. You are not willing to count them all, but you know Narcissa and Lucius tried for nine years before having Draco. The thought is unbearable. Could you endure it, you wonder, and you're afraid of the answer.

Each absent child is a hole in your heart. Like cracks in parched earth, they could fill with your life's blood but still be as barren as the rest of you. Maybe if Draco had married Pansy, he would be holding his own child now. Maybe if you had loved Ron, Harry, or anyone else but Draco, you wouldn't have to feel this way. Sometimes, in the early morning hours when you are half-asleep and your husband's arm lies over you, his hand protectively cradling nothing, you are convinced that each cycle of creation and death is robbing you of everything but sadness. Will the time come when you need to turn your back on the memory of all of this? Even if it means turning your back on Draco?

When Draco passes the baby back to Pansy, it's safe to join him. Draco is cold hands, warm eyes, and a sad smile just for you, and you can tune Pansy out when he's touching you. You cover his hands with both of yours to warm them and smile your bravest smile for his benefit. Draco has more hope than you that everything will be okay, that someday a child will live and grow and be yours forever. You love him so much for that faith, for the strength he would use to keep you both moving forward, and you kiss him, not caring that Pansy is watching. You realize—with a kind of despair and the intuitive knowledge that the worst is yet to come—that, although you are reaching a point when you will refuse to keep trying, you are not there yet.


End file.
